Cruelty
by SnapdragonSmile
Summary: They have hardened, little more now than their ambition, determination, cruelty and bitterness. A chance meeting between two lovers who were never meant to see each other again. OneShot.


Years have passed. Marisa has changed with them---eyes are hard and sparkling, skin is stark white, lips are penciled in sharp red, no color seeping out the edges. She is thinner, too, hipbones jutting and hollow cheeks curving inward. The monkey's fur is brighter, hard to look at, stinging the eyes of those around him. His little mouth is set and his beady eyes are narrow.

Their beauty is untouched.

Still, _he_ was not supposed to see her. Ghosts and dreams are meant to slip and fade, as though they never existed (he should never have, not for her). She hasn't thought of him or the girl in nearly a year and feels nothing but self-centered, regretful shame when she does.

Marisa watches him all night and wonders if he does the same. Sometimes she thinks she feels his eyes on her but she will turn round and see nothing. If it were a larger party, she would be sure to lose herself in the identical faces. But there are perhaps twenty guests and she feels caught, naked. Why does he always have to see through her? Why won't he leave her be? Why can't she hate him, as she so wants to?

When they'd used to fight, she'd want to scream that she'd had other lovers, many of them, some more beautiful (though she secretly prefers his rough, wild face to their soft, white skin and curled hair), some more powerful (though only by a minute difference in birth, he has carved space in the world like nobody else can), some richer, or more charming, or more well-known than he. She had an audience with the King, she almost owns the Magesterium, she can manipulate anyone who crosses her, she is Mrs. Coulter!

Why can he bring her down?

It shouldn't be allowed.

She thinks he steals glances at her throughout the evening, little sneaking ones and Stelmaria growls, extending her claws.

Halfway through the evening, they are introduced (oh, the irony) once again. The Church's agent has her privileges, after all, and most people think sad, beautiful, tragic Mrs. Coulter (she keeps her name and ring both, poor creature, they whisper) lost her husband and child within the span of a winter. They say she's never been quite the same.

She hasn't.

"Lord Asriel Belacqua, this is Mrs. Marisa Coulter. Mrs. Coulter, Lord Asriel. I don't believe you two have met before."

"I've heard of him. We've never met, however." Marisa's voice is tight and brittle.

He looks so different from the picture she remembers in her mind, his face even harder, set, so much fiercer than she even thought it could be. She knows it isn't possible but he seems a little taller, his shoulders wider.

And Stelmaria is lunging at her, she is snarling and growling at her, she is pacing and clawing and baring her teeth, circling the monkey, ready to attack him, destroy him, do anything she can do to bring him down. Asriel's expression mirrors his daemon's, eyes burning. Marisa thinks she is the only person who can see the way his hands stretch before him, as though he wishes to strangle her.

The man who introduced them has left by now, so even as people, vile, intrusive, blank people surround them, they are alone. Marisa inches towards a corner, where fewer hear their conversation and their faces fall in shadow. Asriel follows, Stelmaria running her claws over the monkey, so near to tearing his skin away. The monkey jumps away, wrapping himself around Marisa's shoulders, turning away.

"Mrs. Coulter," Asriel says and the words sting, for he always, always called her Marisa.

"Lord Asriel," she replies, matching him in formality, though she cannot be so cutting.

"I trust you are having a pleasant evening." His words are simple pleasantries but his tone disguises nothing. His hand is in Stelmaria's fur, fists taut, restraining her.

"Yes. And you?"

"Well enough. Nothing special about it."

It's as though he's slapped her.

"That's a shame," Marisa sneers, while the monkey buries his face in her shoulder, hiding his pain and humiliation.

"You were introduced as Mrs. Coulter. Is your husband present?"

So they will continue to pretend.

"I am a widow of five years."

"My regrets." His voice is flat.

"There's no need. It's been a time. Why would I remember anyone gone from me five years?"

Marisa can cut back. The monkey descends from her shoulder, hissing, his strength, his malice returned.

"I feel quite the same way, Mrs. Coulter."

He returns the blow. Stelmaria sinks her claws in the monkey's fur. He yelps and Stelmaria does not move. Marisa remains still, frozen, careful not to wince, staring.

"If it isn't too intrusive," Asriel inquires, "How did he die?"

"His arrogance killed him. He deluded himself into believing he was a different sort of man, a worthier kind than he was."

"What happened?"

"He had a possession he treasured dearly and when it was stolen, he went to the thief's dwelling to retrieve it. The thief was by far a cleverer, stronger man and my husband was shot and killed."

"I believe I know this case. What became of the thief?"

"He escaped. It was a shame. If I were the judge, I would have had him executed and forced the city to watch." It isn't true, she's never hated him quite the way she would have liked to, but she feels she should strike back.

The monkey hisses.

"That's a harsh sentence. From what I have heard, the item was of little value and badly guarded. He may simply have rid the world of a fool," Asriel spits and the monkey hisses in return.

Asriel never was gentle, never could be tender and Marisa hadn't ever wanted him to be. Just the same, he was not this man, this man who seems to yearn to break her. He is cold now.

"And you? Is there a Lady Belacqua?" It seems unlikely but Marisa supposes it is possible. How, after all, has he regained the wealth the courts stripped from him for Edward's murder?

"No."

"Why not? I'm certain there are many who would accept you in a moment."

"Frankly, most I meet, men or women, disgust me."

Another snarl, another growl. Claws sink deeper.

"How unfortunate for you."

"I did consider it, once," Asriel remarks, still casual.

"What prevented you?"

"I discovered her true nature."

"What do you mean?" Marisa rasps, her voice flat, the monkey hiding behind her legs.

"Many man were enchanted by this whore, this disgusting, lying whore and for a while I was the same as any. I even imagined that I was in love with her and though she was spoken for, I thought of stealing her away. But I learned in time. She had many men, cunning, powerful men who she turned into her slaves and, to her, I was no different. She was incapable of thinking of anyone but her vile self, delighted in the idea of having a pining, tortured lover, lusted after power with all her repulsive being. And when I refused to be her weak, doting swain, she turned her back and stripped me of my possessions as well."

It is all spoken in a low, embittered voice, soft enough so that nobody but Marisa can hear. Asriel's face is twisted with revulsion. Stelmaria's claws are in the monkey's skin. Asriel might as well knock her to the ground.

"Perhaps," Marisa begins, her voice shaking, "You misjudged this woman. Perhaps you were not the same as the others."

The monkey outstretches one shaking hand, tentative. Then, he seems to remember himself and snatches his hand back.

"I know better than to entertain such a notion."

"I've tired of this game, I think," Marisa breathes, looking away. If she could see herself for a moment, she'd see that, despite her sharp, brittle glamour, she looks almost exactly as she did when she first met him, when she was younger and almost naive.

"So have I."

Marisa is pulling Asriel's arm, taking him onto the stone balcony, so similar to the one they first spoke on. This time, it is autumn and though Marisa wants to shiver, she does not. He does not resist, though Stelmaria leans over the golden monkey, pressing his hands to the ground so he cannot move. He looks to his mistress for help, but she shakes her head.

Stelmaria may have caught him but she is not hurting him just this moment.

"So we may speak as ourselves?" Marisa asks.

"I was simply playing your game, Marisa. You know as well as I that I care nothing for the trivial opinions of the fools inside."

"I wasn't under the impression you cared for my games, as you put it."

"You would have walked away. There were some words I wanted to say to you."

"And now you've said them."

"I have. And yet here we are."

Stelmaria continues to glare at the monkey, but she releases him.

"Here we are," she echoes, moving towards the edge of the balcony, "Do you remember how you used to stare at me? Edward would be next to me, his hand gripping my arm to show I was his and yet you'd fix your eyes on me, unblinking. I never could figure out what it was you saw."

She scoops the monkey into her arms, making sure he does not wander to Stelmaria.

"If you think I've come here to reminisce about times past, you're a fool," Asriel spits.

"Don't you dare speak to me that way, Asriel."

"I'll speak to you however I see fit."

"Because I belong to you in some way? Do you think I am in your debt? Am I your whore? Perhaps you're the fool."

Though Marisa keeps her face hidden, the monkey has emerged, defiant.

"Do you believe you have the right to hate me? You are the one who has misused me!" Asriel roars.

"I do not hate you," she replies, sincere for once.

There is a silence. They both look out on the sparkling city, so far below them.

"What has become of us?" Marisa whispers in the monkey's ears. For the first time in years, she misses her former self, the one who still retained a little innocence, who could smile every now and then, laugh, once in a while.

"How is the child?" she asks.

"Don't pretend you've wondered."

"What is she like? Is she more similar to you or me?"

"She's nothing like either of us and so much the better." Something about his fierce, defensive tone strikes Marisa.

"You care for her," she muses.

"Don't be ridiculous," Asriel scoffs.

"What have you told her about her parents?"

"She's my brother's child. He and his wife perished in an airship accident."

"I see."

"She's a common, thoughtless child. She wouldn't understand or spread it round Jordan for all to hear. She's a teller of tales."

"Will you ever tell?"

"No."

"You won't believe me, Asriel, but if I could change things, if what happened five years ago could be altered---"

The monkey reaches towards Stelmaria.

"It makes no difference." For once, he sounds almost sad.

"Yes, I suppose so. There is nothing I can do now."

Asriel turns toward her and she remembers the way he made her feel, the way he tempted her, made her fall. Dust, she decided later. It must have been Dust. Sin.

Asriel kisses her, taking her face in his hands. It is hard, fierce, angry. There is no softness in it.

"Don't think this is forgiveness," he breathes.

He doesn't have to worry. She knows how it works. Marisa knows that tonight, she will find her way back to his bed and there will be fire in his eyes. In the morning, Asriel will be back to hating her in full. She will remain silent, attempting to keep her pride. She will walk away from his house, ashamed, swearing it will never happen again.

"I hate him, I hate him," she will whisper to the monkey, wanting it to be true.

The monkey strokes Stelmaria's fur, for once not violent, not malicious, glad for the little time he has. She runs a paw over his fur, caressing him and breaking his skin at once.


End file.
